What A Spy Leaves Behind
by WritePassion
Summary: A little story about the destruction of trust. SPOILERS for episode 7.02.


_Burn Notice: I don't own it, I just like to play with it._

_After episode 7.02 Forget Me Not, so there are spoilers if you haven't seen it._

**What A Spy Leaves Behind**

By WritePassion

With a heavy sigh, Sam dropped his keys on the breakfast bar. It had been a long day, a really long, full of emotion and action-laden day, draining not only his body but his mind and soul. He suddenly remembered and glanced around the living room, wondering. Just how many places were bugged? When and how did those criminals with a badge at the CIA get into the penthouse and cover it with surveillance devices? Elsa would be furious when he told her, and someone was bound to lose their job in the fallout.

"Just sweep it, Sam."

That was Michael's weary answer when Sam half asked, half begged Michael to admit whether he'd been listening in that morning. The memory of making love to Elsa had been golden, but the thought of someone listening and getting off on it tarnished his thoughts. A tightness filled his chest as he pondered that his best friend had been spying on him, and Sam couldn't imagine what it took to sink that low.

_You think you know a guy after all these years, and then he goes and betrays my trust. Why? How can someone do that to a best friend?_

Sam felt a dark shadow of betrayal slink over him. He needed a drink.

Mixing his mojito at the bar, he spied something stuck between the credenza and the wall. He reached into the crevice, pulled, and the listening device came unhooked from its hiding place. The wires dangled like legs on a dead cockroach as he held it between two fingers. Rage twisted Sam's features, and with a rising growl that morphed into a scream, he threw it against the wall. The tiny microphone pinged, left a small dent in the texture, and bounced to drop to the carpet where he stomped and crushed it into a dozen or more pieces.

The only sound was his breath huffing in and out of his open mouth. He was too enraged now to enjoy that drink. God only knew where else he would find more bugs and cameras, but Sam was determined to find every one of them if it took all night. He'd start with the living area. As he found more devices, his anger grew until he was like a madman, though he used discretion when he would have preferred to just literally tear everything apart and leave stuffing and torn fabric behind. His fingers tweaked and tested every seam in the couch cushions, looking for a place where the stitching had been ripped and replaced. He found another bug that way inside a pillow sham in the bedroom, and behind a loose tile in the bathroom he discovered a small camera.

_The bathroom? Really, Mike?_

He'd been focusing so much energy on finding the surveillance devices that he lost the edge of his hard emotions, but finding that one turned on the indignation all over again. _How could you do this to me, Mike? We were friends! At least, I thought we were, or were you just playing me all this time?_

If he really thought about it, Sam could come to that conclusion. From the first day Michael was dumped in Miami, he used Sam to get a job that led to others. He took advantage of Sam's gift for obtaining valuable intel and later dragged Elsa into his mess by convincing Sam to borrow her wealth and toys. What did he ever give back? Sam shook his head. He couldn't think of anything with his one-track mind. Sam realized that he'd invested years in a one-way friendship for a few lousy bucks and some rounds of drinks at Carlito's. He dropped to the bed exhausted, his legs barely keeping him from sliding off the silk duvet.

Despair rose up in Sam and he wanted to shout, cry, slam his fist through the wall, do anything to make the pain hurt less. He was just as angry with himself as Michael. How he let himself slide so easily into this charade was beyond him. It was because he cared, and he loved his friend like a brother. God help him, if Michael called tomorrow and asked for something, Sam would probably answer with a yes. His friend needed someone to keep him from going completely crazy, and Sam seemed to be the only one who could break through the bubble Michael developed around himself, at least until today.

At the moment though, he wasn't feeling it. He just wanted to crawl under the covers and hide away, to imagine that the past seven years hadn't happened. Maybe in sleep he could transport himself back to the patio at the beachside bar and hide behind a menu or something so Michael Westen wouldn't see him.

"Sam? What happened in here?"

He heard Elsa's voice and his heart skipped a beat, but not because of the love he felt for her. He'd forgotten about the state of the living room, and now that she'd seen it, his worst fears had come true. She was livid, and she had every right to be.

"Sam! Where are you?"

"In here, Baby." He forced himself to get off the side of the bed and meet her in the doorway.

"What happened in here? Are you alright," she asked with a worried mask and melted into his arms.

"That's a really good question, Elsa." He held her and his eyes roamed over the destruction in the other room. Everything was out of place, cushions tossed far from the couches, and a couple of statues and pieces of art were damaged during his search. "I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but... the CIA bugged our place and set up cameras to capture our every move."

"What? How the hell did that happen?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. Someone let them in here, and they had bugs and hidden cameras in every room."

"Even the bedroom? And the bathroom?" Her disgust tore at his heart. Until now she hadn't seen the seamier side of spying, and it had to be a huge shock.

"I'm afraid so."

Her brow furrowed and her mouth hung slack as she pulled out of his arms, and in an instant her expression changed to one of black hatred. "Where is he? Where's Michael? If I get my hands on him, so help me..."

Seeing her fury was like looking in the mirror a couple hours earlier. His heart broke again just for her. "I'm sorry, Baby. I am so sorry." He reached for her and captured her arms, holding her so she couldn't lash out at anything or anyone. "It's okay, I think I found them all."

"You think? You think?" She squirmed, but he only held her tighter. "We're out of here now. Let's go to the mansion... or did he bug that too?"

"I don't know. I didn't go there."

Elsa found the strength to pull out of his grip. Her hands balled into fists at her side and her eyes stormed. "Well before we go there, you better find out and those morons at the CIA better remove every bug to my satisfaction or there'll be hell to pay. No, wait. I don't trust them. I'll call someone…."

"Don't worry, I know someone. I'll take care of it." He rubbed her upper arms in an attempt to calm her. "Think we can use one of the other suites until everything is clean?"

"I'll take care of that. You pack up some of our stuff, at least a couple days' worth." She stopped in the suite doorway and turned to him. "I want to get someone in here to make sure this place is put back together before I set foot in it again. Someone we can trust." Her eyes took in the mess and flitted over the walls and ceiling. "I feel... dirty... in here. Like I've been violated." Her eyes returned to his. "Don't you?"

He nodded and replied. "I do."

"If you're smart, Sammy, you'll stay away from Michael Westen from now on. He's not much of a friend if he would do this to us." She whirled on her heel and slammed the door on her way out, leaving Sam alone with a lump of sorrow rising from his core.

She was right. There was no good reason for Michael to do this. He'd crossed the line. Sam understood how obsessed Michael could be, and his irrational drive finally turned him on his friends. Not that that was a good excuse, because it wasn't. After everything was fixed, maybe Michael would be approachable again, and they could work this out. Sam shook his head and pulled a suitcase from a storage closet.

_Despite what he did, if he needs me I'll be there, because I can't in good conscience let him run loose and self-destruct. _He'd seen agents lose it before. There was no hope for them when they went over the edge. Sam hoped that Michael was the exception, but if not... He didn't even want to think of what might happen. Bugging his friends would be the tip of the iceberg. Sam threw clothes and necessities into the suitcase as if a hit squad was coming soon, and he hurried out of the suite without a backwards glance. Being a spy was a messy business, and it was hardly ever a neat, tidy world that they left behind.


End file.
